Holding Grief & Joy: The Duality of Life After Loss

Grief and joy. Love and loss. It’s easy to think of them as opposites—forces that cannot coexist. But the truth is, they don’t cancel each other out. They don’t take turns. Instead, they live side by side. Sometimes, they are present in the same breath. Sometimes, in the same moment. Learning to hold both grief and joy is one of the hardest lessons we face, but it’s also one of the most important.

I’ve lived this duality every day since losing my daughter, Alivia. Since losing my parents. Since realizing that grief isn’t something that fades—it’s something that integrates into who we are, something we learn to live with.

I think about how I can laugh with my children, soak in their joy, and still feel the ache of the ones who are missing. I think about how a song can bring me comfort and devastation all at once, how a simple, everyday moment—watching a mother and daughter shopping together—can bring me to my knees because I will never have that again.

That’s the thing about grief—it doesn’t demand that you stay in the dark forever. It allows you to feel love. It allows you to experience joy, but it also ensures you remember. And in that remembering, we learn how to carry both.

The Guilt of Joy

If you’ve walked through grief, you’ve probably felt it—that guilt when you catch yourself smiling, when you have a good day, when you let yourself feel happiness again.

For a long time, I struggled with this. How could I be okay, even for a moment, when my daughter isn’t here? When my parents are gone? How could I laugh with my kids knowing there will always be an empty seat at the table?

It felt like betraying my grief, as if my sadness was the only proof that they had mattered. As if my pain was the only thing keeping them close.

But what I’ve learned is this: My grief honors them. And so does my joy.

They wouldn’t want me to live in endless sadness. My dad, a proud man who carried the weight of responsibility with quiet strength, would want me to smile and find joy. My mom—who had a smile that made you feel safe, who brought light into every room—would want me to embrace happiness, even in the face of sorrow. And Alivia—oh, I know she would want her mama to smile. To love. To live.

Joy doesn’t erase grief, just like grief doesn’t erase joy. And I’ve learned that letting myself love this life, despite all the ways it has broken me, is not a betrayal. It’s a tribute. A promise that I will carry them with me into every bit of happiness I allow myself to have.

So if you’re in that place, if you feel the weight of guilt pressing against your happiness, I want you to hear this: You are allowed to feel joy. You are allowed to build a beautiful life even after devastating loss. Because love doesn’t die. And neither do the people we carry with us.

Grief Through Generations

Grief doesn’t just belong to one person. It ripples through generations, shaping the ones who come after. I see it in my children—Zoe, Grayson, and Logan. Each of them has been shaped by loss, even though they are still so young. It’s a strange thing to think about, how a loss they didn’t experience personally still has such a profound impact on their lives.

Zoe, my 14-year-old, has never met Alivia, yet she speaks of her as if she always knew her. She draws her in pictures, includes her in stories, and makes sure her name is never forgotten. In a way, I think Zoe’s maturity and awareness have been shaped by the grief that came before her. She carries the weight of a loss that happened before she was born, a weight that’s difficult to fully understand unless you’ve walked it.

Then there’s Grayson, my wild-hearted boy, full of energy and laughter. He’s always asking questions about death and heaven, trying to understand why some families have more people to love than others. The conversations we have are filled with confusion, curiosity, and tenderness. And while I wish he didn’t have to ask such deep questions at such a young age, I also see the beauty in the way he’s learning empathy.

And then there’s Logan, my youngest. He’s still small, but he’s growing up in a family that speaks openly about grief and love—about those who are missing and those who remain. He may not fully understand it yet, but in time, he will. He will learn just like his siblings that grief isn’t something to fear—it’s something to carry with tenderness, with love, and with compassion.

Grief, through all its forms, shapes us. It shapes our families, our children, our hearts. But it’s not the only thing that defines us. Love, laughter, resilience—they also define us. The reality of generational grief is that it never disappears. It transforms into something else, something we learn to carry with grace and strength. It teaches us that grief is not only about what we’ve lost, but also about honoring those who came before us, about carrying their stories forward, and about ensuring they live on in our hearts and actions.

The Lessons Grief Teaches Us

Grief teaches us that love is not measured in time. It teaches us that the people we lose never really leave us. That life continues, even when we don’t feel ready for it to.

It has taught me that I can survive things I never thought I could. That I can smile, even when my heart is broken. That I can find beauty in the life I still have. That love, when nurtured, when spoken aloud, and when honored, will carry us through anything life throws our way.

Grief has taught me that we can hold pain and hope at the same time. That we can cry for what is gone and still embrace what remains. That we can laugh with our children and still ache for the ones we’ve lost. Grief has taught me that it’s okay to feel the full range of emotions—joy, sorrow, love, loss—and to honor them all as part of our human experience.

Perhaps most importantly, grief has taught me that I am not alone. That none of us are. No matter how deep the pain, no matter how isolated we may feel, there is always someone else who understands. There is always someone else who has walked a similar path. We may not all carry the same losses, but we all carry some form of grief, some way of learning to live with it. And in that shared experience, we are never truly alone.

You Are Allowed to Hold Both

You don’t have to choose between joy and grief. You don’t have to choose between moving forward and holding on. You get to do both. You get to be a living, breathing example of love that endures, of resilience that rises even in the face of loss.

Let yourself feel it all. The pain, the joy, the sorrow, the love. Let it shape you, but don’t let it stop you from living. Grief will always be a part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you. You define it. You get to decide how you carry it, how you allow it to shape you, and how you move through this world with love and strength.

You are allowed to feel joy again. And you are allowed to grieve. Both can exist. Both can be honored.

And in that space, healing begins.